


What with the Giant Falling Moon and Whatnot

by FreetheClam



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask
Genre: Angst, Gen, groundhog day scenario
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 02:57:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8515855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreetheClam/pseuds/FreetheClam
Summary: It was the postman who nearly broke him. 
The Post Office was always locked at the odd times Link had stopped by, so when he found the door ajar that third night, he couldn’t help but feel curious, and a bit nervous. 
(But that wasn’t unusual. Clock Town made him nervous. Termina  made him nervous.)





	

It was the postman who nearly broke him. 

The Post Office was always locked at the odd times Link had stopped by, so when he found the door ajar that third night, he couldn’t help but feel curious, and a bit nervous. 

( _But that wasn’t unusual. Clock Town made him nervous._ Termina _made him nervous._ )

Inside, Link had found the postman on his knees, trembling and mumbling to himself; his voice was shaky, gasping, like he was lung-hit. Tatl hovered over him with a chime, trying to snag his attention for Link.

The postman moaned, a high, distressed noise that made everything in Link tense. He stepped closer, just enough to make out the constant murmur. 

“I want to flee,” the postman said. Over and over. _I want to flee. I want to flee._

“Then why doesn’t he run?” Tatl asked, flitting over to Link briefly. “I mean, what’s stopping him? Nearly the whole town is already gone!”

Link inched a bit closer, hesitantly placing a hand on the postman’s shoulder. 

The man’s trembling stopped for an abrupt moment, body going stiff in a bare second of surprise before the shaking began again. “I want to flee,” he all but wailed before stuttering out brokenly, “I want to flee, but it’s not written on the schedule. The delivery schedule…. To me, it’s… It’s the _highest priority._ I want to flee! I want to flee--the moon, oh goddess _the moon_ \--but the _schedule_ \--!”

The postman started rocking, staring at the floor between his hands and chasing his words around and around until Link wanted to shake him. ( _Just go. Leave._ )

“I want to flee!” the postman gasped. “But the schedule is set! The schedule cannot be abandoned but I want to flee…”

“Is he…is he going to be okay?” Tatl asked, hovering closer to Link’s ear. 

Of course not. The moon was falling. No one was going to be okay. No matter how hard Link fought, he always had to reset the Cycle--had to reset the _people_. Link tried to help, but he didn’t have it down yet. He didn’t know Clock Town, its people, the Cycle, well enough. 

How many times had the old mother of the bomb-shop keeper been shoved down, her wrist twisted when the thief wrenched the bag from her, left her shaken and cowering in the dirt? How long did she wait every morning for a guard to find her and help her home? 

How many times had Romani fought alone in the dark of the barn, been taken screaming and frightened and then _changed_? How many times had Cremia searched for her in the morning, calling and calling, before Link found the hinge moment? That one anchor point in the Cycle that told him what was happening, that gave him the _chance_ to help?

How many times had the postman trembled here, wailing and panicked and _bound_? 

Link knew the answer. ( _Every time._ ) He’d lost count of how often he’d reset the Cycle. ( _Too many._ ) 

Link watched the postman, feeling his insides tangle and twist with the man’s raw despair. 

( _Just leave. Please. Just go._ )

The postman gasped on a half-choked sob, murmuring his mantra of fear and duty.

( _Please. Please, please, please just_ run.)

“The _schedule_ \--“

Link’s hand was on the wall in a split second, fingers curving like claws as he ripped at the carefully tacked-up paper. The schedule tore in a hissing rip. He dug his nails into the paper, feeling the wood grain of the wall, and he ripped more of it away. And more of it. More. 

The postman was silent, out of sight behind Link. Tattered strips of paper littered the floor, clung to the wall and Link’s fingers, and he was reaching again when he heard it. A low, keening sound; and then the postman was there in front of him, frantically gathering up the shreds and sobbing hysterically. He rocked on his knees, clutching the paper to his chest as he wept and whimpered and _broke._

Link left. He shut the door firmly behind himself.

There were splinters and blood under his nails. He stared at his hands for a moment, not quite feeling how they were attached to him. 

( _Was this what it felt like? Going mad?_ )

He had always had a very even temper, all things considered. But now he was furious, both at the postman and himself because _goddammit he knew better._ He knew better than act in anger--Ganondorf’s favorite tactic had been provoking his opponent and Link _knew better._

The postman was frightened; he wasn’t to blame, he wasn’t thinking clearly, he was just scared. And something in the man’s desperate internal conflict had touched on…something in Link. Something that had reared its head and responded in kind. 

It was no excuse. He knew better. 

( _Navi would have given him hell for it--_ )

The air rushed out of him, and for a wild moment he reached for his sword to fend off a second blow before he registered what was happening.

The ocarina was at his lips hardly before he realized it. 

The notes were weak, breathy, but the song didn’t need that. All it needed was a strong wish, a will to push it out and up and into being. And Link’s will was wildly, painfully sharp.

There was the jarring, nauseating dizziness of falling, _falling can’t breathe can’t be real falling._

And then he was standing in front of the Clock Tower, the sun cusping the horizon behind the walls. 

The courtyard dog barked, leaping after a butterfly while carpenters hammered and sawed and hollered. Link knew that little Jim was in North Clock Town, taking pot-shots at the large balloon; the fairy was shattered, her one lost piece wandering in East Clock Town; the Mayor’s wife was meeting with the Troupe Leader and Toto about Lulu’s vocal problems. 

And the postman’s schedule was on the wall, pristine and neatly labelled, without a tear or crease on its surface. ( _There were no real consequences here. Not when you could just…reset._ )

Link felt ill. 

He spent the first day wandering Clock Town, just watching people. Some routines he remembered; others he didn’t. He couldn’t be sure he had ever known them, really.

There was always a disconcerting, surreal disconnect with every reset; Link would sometimes…forget things. When everything was the same, reality became difficult to track. ( _Where would he be without the Bomber’s notebook? His chicken-scratch scrawls and notes and ad-hoc warnings?_ )

He made note about Anju’s grandmother; even if Anju’s cooking wasn’t the best, Granny needed to eat. Maybe he could help cook while Anju saw to the Stock Pot’s guests? Or he could man the front desk--? ( _No, too short now. He wouldn’t be able to see over the top of the counter._ )

He was early to North Clock Town that evening, so he sat down in the path and waited. The thief would just brush him off if he tried to deal with him now. ( _No one was scared of a child, no matter how sharp their blade._ ) He sat quietly and considered where he might find a cookbook.

The Bomb-Shop owner’s mother smiled at him as she passed, hesitating as she always did to ask if he was all right. Link nodded, but stood and walked with her anyway. ( _Not too close, though. She was suspicious of strangers._ ) He was there when the thief made his move; his slow, prancing run took him right beside the elderly woman before his arm snapped out, snake-like and surprisingly strong. Link was already moving, barely intercepting the snatching hand before it could grip and twist the thin, frail bones of her wrist.

The elderly woman dropped her bag, shock and age making her grasp weaker than she expected it to be. ( _“Don’t let yourself get old, child,” she’d said once, while he walked her home. The irony was not lost on Link._ ) 

It wasn’t until nearly the end of the next day, rainy and chill, that he realized Tatl had been oddly silent. He could feel her on his head, nestled in the hair under his cap, occasionally shifting to a more comfortable positon. But she hadn’t emerged, hadn’t spoken a word since…

Link felt the slow, flushing heat of guilt climb the back of his neck. And then his stomach plummeted, and the heat of guilt cooled to a sudden shiver. 

( _Had he frightened her? …Was she scared of him now?_ )

Nausea climbed up Link’s throat, his chest tight and his stomach too-warm, and he ran through West Clock Town, careful not to look at the Post Office, skidding past the owl statue and skinning his palms before stumbling into North Clock Town, gasping and dry heaving. 

His stomach settled slowly, and it took him a while to catch his breath. When he thought he could manage without stumbling again, Link stood and made for the thief’s hiding place. It was tucked away out of sight, blocked by the playground from the guard and the entrances into other Clock Town sectors. 

He sat in the grass and curled in on himself, folding around his knees and leaning against the cool rock of the outcropping. It was cold. He was shivering. 

He wasn’t sure if he fell asleep. He might have been dreaming; he might have been remembering. It was so hard to tell in Termina. Everything already felt so…distant, murky. 

( _Ganondorf loved fear. Fear meant obedience, power. And power was everything for Ganondorf. Link could still remember the survivors in Kakariko Village, huddled in houses and trying to make new lives. The air always tasted of desperate cheer, undercut by the resigned acceptance that this was the way of things now. He could still remember their fear, the looks they’d cast toward Market Town--were they hidden enough? Would the Redeads wander from their feeding ground? Would Ganondorf?_

_Link hated that look. He hated Ganondorf for cultivating it, relishing in it._

_If Tatl looked at him now, what would he see in her face?_

_What would he see in Navi’s, if she knew?_ )

“Link?” the chiming voice was quiet, as near a whisper as a fairy could manage. “Link, you’re cold.”

Link opened his eyes, easing his head up from where it had slipped down, just enough to peak at Tatl’s golden flicker.

“It’s wet and you’re shivering. You’ll get sick.” She was frowning at him, and if she were afraid, she was hiding it well. He raised his head, watching her for any reaction, any sign. “…Are you okay?” 

Link shifted slowly, lifting a hand to offer her a perch ( _slowly, don’t startle her don’t_ scare _her, slowly, slowly_ ). Tatl ignored his hand, drifting closer until she was almost on his nose. Her face was scrunched up with what could be worry, or sadness, or annoyance, and she was scrutinizing his face like it was a puzzle from the Stone Tower. 

Link shivered. He disliked that temple, still hadn’t managed to force himself back to retrieve the final set of remains. He would go back--of course he would, how could he _not_?--but he needed to breathe. And he couldn’t breathe in that temple, in Ikana, in _Termina._

Tatl made a thoughtful sound, and it seemed she’d reached whatever conclusion she needed. She didn’t perch on Link’s hand, still carefully positioned for her; she fluttered back for a moment and then up near his head, and Link thought she would tuck herself back under his cap, away from him, _safe from him_ , but then she settled herself there, gently resting against his cheek and temple. 

She was right. Link was freezing, shivering, his tunic damp from the wet grass and rock. 

“Shhh,” she chimed softly against his hair. “Shhh, it’s okay.”

And Link realized he was crying. 

Everything crashed down at once. The Cycles, the resets, the hopeless knowledge that even if he somehow stopped the moon he couldn’t _save them all._ His disconnect snapped into place, the muzzy layer of distance rushing forward until it was all there in front of him, surrounding him, suffocating him so much too much _he couldn’t breathe._

He was sobbing, loud wet gasps that seemed to fill his tiny hideaway. He clamped his hands on his mouth, trying to remember the counting exercises Navi had taught him that first night out of the woods, when all he could think of was that _Kokiri die if they leave the forest_ and he was waiting for each panicked, rasping breath to be his last. 

Tatl didn’t comment. Her soft, bell-like voice continued murmuring reassurances, some not even in Hylian, and Link latched onto her voice, counting out seconds and forcing his lungs to expand ( _two, three, four, five_ ) and hold and exhale ( _two, three, four, five_ ). 

Sometime before dawn, Link had calmed. His breathing still hitched, still shook, but it was somewhat regular. Tatl hummed a nonsense tune, hand stroking the bit of his bangs she could reach. 

Link slept. 

He woke late the third day, the earth trembling and the townspeople fled or watching the moon creep closer and closer. His head hurt, and his nose was stuffy, but the world felt crisp and clear and _real_ again. Tatl emerged from his hood the moment he stirred, gave him an ‘I told you so’ look when he sniffed and muttered about foolish, immature boys. 

She huffed, giving a strident jingle as she did so. “Well, it looks like _someone_ needs to visit the Great Fairy.” She paused a moment, considering. “In fact, let’s go back to the first day. That way you can get some of Granny’s soup from Anju after you visit the Great Fairy--and don’t give me that look! If it tastes bad then you shouldn’t have gotten sick!” 

Link sniffed again, perhaps a bit louder than strictly necessary, and tried not to smile when Tatl grimaced with a quiet “gross!”

He pulled out the ocarina, taking a deep breath (through his mouth, this time) before putting it to his lips and playing the required notes. They rang out into the afternoon air, clear and sweet.


End file.
